


Unspoken but Understood

by vaegrant



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaegrant/pseuds/vaegrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony and Clint need to communicate more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken but Understood

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted drabble for the [MCUHS](http://mcuhs.tumblr.com/) RP group on tumblr.

Different as they are, there’s common ground that anchors Tony and Clint to one another. For as long as the two can remember, it’s been unspoken but understood, hidden beneath a veneer of light-hearted jokes and facetiousness. 

Since their friendship began, they were comfortable with that. Clint had commented it made things easier, more special. No point in wasting breath on things that didn’t need to be said.

The more time passes, the more Tony questions that notion.

He may not be the most active person, but Tony certainly isn’t a slob, and he’s neither unfamiliar or uncomfortable with exercise. He’s in decent shape as it is, maybe no athlete, but he considers himself healthier than the average. He eats reasonably well, he goes for walks and jobs, does sit-ups when he’s waiting for drafts to render. He doesn’t need to do more than that.

So why is he? That happens to be the question of the day, playing through his mind on repeat and with obnoxious reverberation as he throws blow after pathetic blow to the punching bag.

Clint’s watching— well, he’s in the same room, they’d decided to work out together— but Tony knows he’s watching. He’d like to pretend he isn’t bothered. After all, he should be used to it. His father did always have a penchant for looming over Tony’s shoulders, watching him work.

Howard never commented, at least not vocally, but Tony grew to read his facial expressions. The creases in his nose when Tony was doing something wrong, the furrowing of his brows when he had no idea what Tony was doing, and of course, the complete lack of a reaction when Tony did something right.

Tony always felt judged.

It’s different with Clint, at least. Between every blow (he refuses to let up, refuses to give himself a break, refuses to stop even if he’s doing terribly), he glances to the blonde to check his reaction. Clint’s taking a small break for a drink of water, focused on Tony’s actions.

His expression is mostly neutral, but he’s clearly not impressed. The air feels tense with Clint watching quietly. Tony knows he isn’t being judged, he knows Clint wouldn’t dream of thinking less of him for how poorly he’s doing here, but he can’t seem to help the doubt niggling at the back of his mind.

He stops for a moment, using his sore elbow as a cover as he pauses to quiet the thoughts buzzing in his mind.

Clint laughs.

"You suck."

Strangely enough, it manages to ease the tension. His ego’s a bit wounded of course, but it isn’t as if it was ever fragile. He’ll live.

He glances over to Clint, smiling, letting out a laugh of his own. There’s an odd comfort in having someone who isn’t afraid of telling him how shitty he’s doing, who’ll freely and honestly comment.

"Think I hurt my elbow."

"Yeah, ‘cause you’re locking it."

Clint’s already made his way over to Tony, pushing him forward just a bit before standing to his right and continuing that thought.

"Gotta stay a little closer so the force doesn’t go all the way to your elbow. Let your forearm and your muscles take the shock, not the joint."

Now there’s something Tony can understand. He takes the time to look down at his arm, considering the structure of the bones (at least what he can remember from biology classes he never paid much attention in to begin with). He flexes his fingers and shakes them, but before he can form his hand into a fist, Clint comments again.

"Gotta hit with the flat part of your fingers. Not always, but, for what you’re doing, yeah. Try to connect with the first three."

Tony nods, and stretches his arm before throwing another punch with Clint’s advice in mind.

"Better! You still suck though."

Tony’s lips curl up into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and he chews at the inside of his lip.

"Guess I forgot what it’s like to be bad at something. Something you’re trying to be good at, anyway." Tony comments idly.

"You’re trying? Coulda fooled me."

Clint laughs, Tony doesn’t.

"Aww, I’m just teasing. Like you wouldn’t laugh at me if I tried to build a robot or whatever."

He has a point, and Tony isn’t interested in denying it, but it isn’t helping his mood. Clint purses his lips, and Tony expects him to wrap it up with a witty joke to get Tony laughing again, and distracted from the subject. Instead, he asks.

"What’s eatin’ you?"

Tony glances over to Clint and chews at his lip, visibly uncomfortable with that question hanging in the air. Clint raises his brows slightly, expectantly, and Tony knows there’s no getting out of it. Sighing, he shrugs and crosses his arms.

"Guess I’m just thinking about dad again. ‘Bout how I’m only good at what I do because he forced me to do it the moment I could use my grubby little hands, so it’s all pretty much nature at this point.

"So here I am trying to do something else, something new, sucking at it, that’s fine. Just kinda makes me think about how bad I’d be if he hadn’t pushed me into doin’ it so early. Like. Am I supposed to be angry at him for shoving me into it, or grateful, since I’m kinda set for life thanks to what he’s done?"

It’s Clint’s turn to shift uncomfortably. Talking things out always had been awkward for them. He looks anywhere but to Tony as he thinks, then makes eye contact.

"Well, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink, right?"

Tony furrows his brows, and Clint (who had apparently considered that thought sufficient) elaborates.

"Yeah he brought you up on it, but you’re the one that soaked it up, right? You’re the one that learned it and did it and are still doing it. He forced you into a position where you felt like you had to, and you did it. You came outta what he forced on you alright, all things considered, and you’re already trumping the achievements he made when he was a gangly, pimplefaced dick, I bet."

Tony manages a small smile and a quick exhale resembling a laugh. Clint seems to relax too, and he continues.

"I used to wonder something like that a lot too, I guess. Like if I’d grown up a happy normal kid, I might not’ve worked as hard as I have. Might not’ve gotten as good as I am. So… what would you say to me? If I asked you should I be grateful to my dad for all the bruises and broken bones he gave me?"

Tony can’t tell if the question is meant to goad him toward a direct answer, or if it’s a genuine question. A moment of eye contact with Clint tells him it’s both. He turns his eyes upward as he thinks, chewing at the inside of his lip. A few seconds tick by, and his thoughts go nowhere fast, so he speaks off the cuff instead.

"I say fuck your dad. He didn’t do it for your benefit, he did it because he was a lonely failure sack of shit, and his only accomplishment was fathering someone who’d be everything he never was, someone whose name people’d remember, someone who’d put effort into being a decent human being. I say fuck him and be grateful to yourself for not only surviving that, but using it to your advantage as motivation."

There’s a quiver, a twitch in Clint’s chest as he breathes. He takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw, then gives a shallow nod to Tony.

"That’s what I say for you, too."

For a brief moment, Tony considers playing it off with a joke, or goading Clint into one, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do so. Awkward as it is, the heartfelt conversation is deeply comforting. Without hesitation, he steps closer to Clint and throws his arms around his shoulders, and Clint returns the favour immediately.

There’s a long, comfortable silence as they embrace. After a few moments, the tension subsides, and they relax. Tony takes a breath, deciding to break the “unspoken but understood” rule.

"I know I don’t say it a lot or whatever because we don’t need to, because we get each other, but. You mean a hell of a lot to me, and I dunno what I’d do without you supporting me. And I know I’m not easy to talk to, I know I always look like I’m constipated when I’m trying to talk about my feelings. But I dunno. I feel better when we do. So. Yeah. I guess. I mean, if you wanna, sometimes, it’s okay. But if you don’t wanna I get that—"

He’s cut off by a quiet sigh, immediately followed by a small kiss.

"I get you, stop babbling."

Tony smiles, happy to hear Clint’s light-hearted tone again.


End file.
